


The In-Between

by Doctor_Discord



Series: The Ego Manor [96]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Acceptance, BAMF Dr. Iplier, Blindness, Blood, Dr. Iplier is Awesome, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Fucked Up, GIVE MY SON SOME LOVE, Magic, Major Character Injury, Medical Procedures, Nightmares, Permanent Injury, Pining, Poor bean, Prophetic Visions, Recovery, Self-Discovery, Self-Hatred, Self-Loathing, Soul Shifting, The Host is Not Okay, The Host is Terrified of Himself, The Other Egos Suck, Transformation, but for a reason, god i love these two, just a bit, lots of blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-07-31 03:11:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20108221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doctor_Discord/pseuds/Doctor_Discord
Summary: The Host was not always the Host. The Author had beensadisticin every sense of the word. He'd ripped his own eyes out, and in doing so caused a chain reaction that made his verysoulshift. Into someone new. Into someone kinder. But it wasn't overnight. No, the painful transformation from the Author into the Host tooktime. This is the story of when the line between the being once the Author and now the Host was blurred and grey.





	1. Chapter 1

Dr. Iplier was growing disturbingly familiar with the scent of blood.

His office was _filled _with it. Two days since he’d brought the Author home to the manor, and his empty sockets had only stopped bleeding for maybe an hour total. He’d yet to stop sobbing. When Dr. Iplier had first found him in his cabin, he’d been surprisingly composed, and silent through the car ride. But the second he’d closed his office door, the Author had collapsed, screaming and clawing at his chest and _sobbing_ and Dr. Iplier didn’t know how to _help him_, he _still_ didn’t.

The Author hadn’t spoken for nearly thirty-six hours now. Dr. Iplier had a feeling he _couldn’t_, that he’d screamed and cried his voice raw. The moment he was strong enough to stand, the Author had instantly darted for the darkest corner of the office, pressing himself as far into it as he could with his knees pulled up to his chest. He hadn’t moved for almost as long as he hadn’t spoken.

Dr. Iplier had given up on trying to coax him out. He was barely able to get close enough to change the thick bandages wrapped tightly around his gaping sockets as is. So, out of the desperation beginning to crawl up his spine, he’d decided it was time to try something…_else_.

He slowly pushed open the door to his office, his heart breaking at the sound of muffled sobs coming from the corner. “Author?”

The Author lifted his head. One hand gripped the edges of the bloodstained hospital gown he wore, the other fisted painfully in his hair. His bandages were soaked, blood streaming down his face. “Don’t call me that.”

Dr. Iplier started at the sound of his voice, broken and raspy and raw, though asserted with as much authority as he could muster. “O-okay.” Dr. Iplier cleared his throat, the plastic bag he carried rustling and swaying. “What…do you want me to call you then?”

The ego before him opened his mouth, hesitating, before closing it again, burying his face between his knees. “Don’t know yet.”

Another sob escaped him, tearing itself from his throat and Dr. Iplier rushed forward. “Hey, no, it’s okay! We’ll work it out.” The ego just shook his head, loosening his grip on his hair and running his hand through it. To Dr. Iplier’s surprise, as his hand carded through his hair, a blond streak appeared in its wake, standing out harshly against the otherwise raven strands. “Uhhh…Okay, here, I-I brought something for you.”

He reached inside the plastic bag as the ego once more lifted his head, brow furrowing with confusion and curiosity. Dr. Iplier pulled out a notebook, simple and black with a hard cover. Honestly, it was more of a journal than a notebook. His hope was that something so familiar to the ego’s hands would soothe and comfort him somehow. “Um, I-I-I thought this might help. It’s yours, if you’d like it.”

He passed the notebook over, but the second it touched the ego’s hands he tensed, breath hitching, and he flung the notebook against the far wall before curling into a tighter ball, sobbing violently with his arms covering the back of his head. Panic seized Dr. Iplier, and he placed a hand on his arm. “Hey – wait, calm down! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean –”

“_Don’t touch me!_” The ego shoved him away, knocking Dr. Iplier flat on his ass as he grew uncontrollable, borderline hyperventilating as the blood flow increased from his sockets, painting his hospital gown red. Dr. Iplier could see the hysterics sinking its teeth into him, and he quickly scrambled closer, foregoing the ego’s demand in favor of placing his hands on his shoulders in what he hoped was a grounding grip. Before he could even up his mouth, however, the ego shoved him a way again, lashing out with his nails that still held bits of optic flesh trapped beneath them. “_I said stay away!_”

The ego’s breathing grew labored and shallow, all-too audible as he dug his nails into the flesh surrounding his bandages. Dr. Iplier’s eyes shot wide, and he attempted to move back over to him, but he found that he _couldn’t_; it was like an invisible shield, a forcefield, had built itself around the ego, preventing him from getting closer. He pressed his hands up against the force, trying to push his way through to no avail. “Please! Please, let me get closer, I can _help _you, you know I can!”

The ego’s head shot up, looking equal parts surprised and _terrified_. “I’m not – I didn’t do anything, I –” He covered his face with his hands, muttering under his breath, too fast and too quiet for Dr. Iplier to hear. And then suddenly his aura was crackling into existence, and the ego visibly relaxed as the red mist swamped over him, shimmering and ghosting around him as he trembled. But then he stiffened, and Dr. Iplier sucked in a harsh breath. Something was _wrong_, something was _very _wrong, his aura fading in and out, but the floating words remained, shifting from dark, _dark _red to pitch black. And then it fizzled out completely, leaving Dr. Iplier speechless as he tumbled forward, whatever force the ego had accidentally conjured disappearing.

“No…” The ego’s voice – gaining some strength back as he used it again – sounded so _broken _as he tore at his hair and bandages. “No no _no! _What is _wrong_ with me, I _can’t _–” His voice completely shattered as he dissolved into more ragged sobs.

Dr. Iplier darted toward him, gently removing his hands from his face before pulling him into a tight hug, one hand cradling the back of his head and not quite caring that blood was soaking into his shirt and coat. “Shhh…It’s _okay_…it’s okay…”

The ego didn’t reply, nor did he return the embrace, just sobbed and gripped onto Dr. Iplier’s coat. It was a _long _time before he calmed down, breathing gradually slowing as Dr. Iplier continued to whisper soothing things into his ear. Eventually, he slumped completely, going still at last as he passed out from what could only be a mixture of emotional distress and the great blood loss he was experiencing from his sockets.

Dr. Iplier let out a small sigh, closing his eyes and briefly pressing his face to the ego’s hair before he stood, hefting him into his arms and carrying him over to the bed pressed against the wall. He set him down gently, then set to work peeling back his bandages and cleaning his face and hands. He nearly threw up at the sight of his bare sockets, forcing himself to swallow it back as he reached inside one of them, peeling back the wads of blood-soaked gauze pressed to the back of it. He repeated the process with the other, letting his mind drift as he grabbed his cotton balls and disinfectant and set about wiping the ego clean of blood.

He cocked his head to the side, movements growing slower and gentler, as the ego let out a small whimper, tensing. Even in his sleep, he was so…_tormented_. This certainly wasn’t the Author, not anymore. He’d heard so many stories of bloodthirsty, sadistic Author from the others, had seen the evidence of his nature in the form of the horrific scar that decorated King’s arm and the numerous scars that covered the Jims. He himself had met the Author, if only for five minutes. The Author was strong, confident, with an odd magnetism that overruled all instincts despite every nerve in one’s body screaming at them to _run_. He was _powerful_. Whoever _this_ was, this broken, blind, shell of man, utterly _shattered_ and vulnerable, was…it was _not _the Author.

Dr. Iplier sighed again as he reached for another wad of gauze, the ego’s head as cleared of blood as he could get it. His unconscious state allowed his emotions to calm and settle so that Dr. Iplier could treat his hemophilia without fear of the blood flow starting up again in thirty seconds. Soaking the gauze in an ungodly concoction of antibiotics, disinfectant, and the strongest numbing agent Dr. Iplier had on hand (to avoid causing him more pain than he was already in), he pressed it to the back of the ego’s sockets, wrapping them once more in thick, cloth bandages.

Dr. Iplier’s brow furrowed, humming discontentedly, when his gaze finally settled on the bloody disaster of the ego’s hospital gown. Hesitating for only a brief moment, he stripped him of it, tossing it off somewhere as he darted back toward his desk, pulling out the pajamas he kept there for emergencies (or when he was an overworking idiot and slept in his office, barely a week old and already he was established as that). He meticulously dressed the ego in them, just a plain black shirt and some fleece, light blue-and-white plaid pajama pants, before he collapsed into the bedside chair. He gently carded his fingers through the ego’s hair, marveling the sudden blond streak. A soft smile crossed Dr. Iplier’s face. He just looked so _peaceful _right now…

Keeping his one hand tangled in the other’s hair, he shifted more comfortably in the chair. He mumbled under his breath as he closed his eyes, his own high stress and emotions dragging him into slumber. “Goodnight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey remember that notebook? Remember what it was used for? Remember the drabble _also_ about that notebook?


	2. Chapter 2

Dr. Iplier was already sitting at his desk, sorting through paperwork and already downing his third cup of coffee that morning when the ego woke again.

He didn’t wake quietly, either; it was with a piercing, deafening _scream_ as he fought the sheets of the bed. Dr. Iplier was at his side in an instant, pinning his wrists as gently as he could to the bed as they immediately went to claw at his bandages. “Hey, no, none of that, it’s okay, you’re safe, I promise.”

The ego choked, straining against Dr. Iplier’s hold, but it felt more like he was testing his grip than actually trying to break free. “D-Doctor? What –” He glanced down at himself, rubbing his legs together and arching one eyebrow. “What am I wearing?”

His dry, mildly surprised comment had Dr. Iplier letting out a short bark of laughter, letting go of the ego’s wrists as he wandered back to his desk for his coffee. “You’re wearing some of my pajamas. Since we’re all basically carbon copies when it comes to physical appearance, I figured they’d fit.” His brow furrowed, and he whipped back around, taking a slow sip from his mug. “Actually…they look a little big on you. Have you been eating?”

The ego froze, visibly swallowing before hesitantly shaking his head, glancing back down and picking at the blankets. “I…tried, but I just felt…_sick_.”

Dr. Iplier drew his mouth in a tight line, humming into his mug. “What have you been doing with the food I give you?”

The ego shrugged. “Dunno. Some fluffy things keep wandering in here and eating it. Whatever they are, they’re nice and soft.”

Dr. Iplier swore. “That would be King’s squirrels. He’s been losing his mind the past couple days over them not eating, either. Guess we’ve figured out why. I’ll tell him later.”

The ego tensed at the mention of King’s name, pulling his knees up to his chest and pressing his back against the headboard. “Is he…okay?”

Dr. Iplier froze, staring quizzically at the other. “He’s fine. He’s always been skittish, according to the Jims, he’s just…more so now.”

Alarm flooded through him when he heard the quiet sob escape the other ego. “I-I-I’m sorry, I don’t – that wasn’t me, well, it was _me_, but – I just –”

He broke down, and Dr. Iplier rushed forward, taking his hands in his own. “It’s not your fault,” he murmured. “I…I _know _you’re not the Author. I know that. Whoever you are – and it’s no rush to figure that out – you’re…kinder.” He smiled. “I like you. And I’m going to continue to help you. There’s no getting rid of me.”

The ego lifted his head marginally. Dr. Iplier could see his bandages darken slightly, but nothing bled through quite yet. His voice was soft, and genuinely confused, so much so that Dr. Iplier felt his heart ache. “Why do you care so much? For me? I may be blind, but I’m not _deaf_. I can…” His brow furrowed as he struggled to find the words. “I can _feel _Darkiplier lurking outside the door sometimes. Wilford, too. And they…_talk_. They don’t trust me. They think…” He choked, turning his head away. “They think you should’ve left me in that cabin to die. Th-they don’t understand _why_ you’re putting in so much effort t-to _save _me, and…neither do I.”

Dr. Iplier raised an eyebrow, squeezing his hands. “Like I’ve said, I don’t give a damn what Dark and Wilford think about me doing this, though I most _certainly _will be talking to them later. And I want to. I _want _to take care of you. You…you’re something special, I can feel it.”

The ego just continued to stare downwards, mumbling half to himself. “I just wished I could believe you.” Suddenly, he gasped, swallowing harshly as he tore his hands free of Dr. Iplier’s. One wrapped around his own throat, the other pushing against his chest, and it was then the Dr. Iplier realized he wasn’t _breathing_ anymore, his body trembling and his chest convulsing as he tried to inhale.

“Oh _shit!_” Dr. Iplier panicked, unsure of what do, and the time of him just staring blankly with wide eyes the ego had managed to draw one, shallow breath, and then he was _screaming_. Screaming and clawing at his chest, his throat, and Dr. Iplier had to fight to get his hands away, pinning them to the bed. The ego arched and struggled beneath him, tossing his head from side to side as blood began to seep from beneath his bandages. “Hey, you need to calm down! You need to tell me where it hurts so I can _fix _it!”

The ego let out a dry, humorless laugh. “_Everything_.” His voice choked off as he attempted to pull his knees up to his chest, breathing labored.

Dr. Iplier jolted back with surprise. That…didn’t make any sense, nothing was physically wrong with him other than his eyes. He _shouldn’t _hurt like that. Still, he squeezed the other’s wrists. “If I let go…promise me that you won’t try to hurt yourself.” The ego nodded shakily, and Dr. Iplier scampered away, rifling through his cupboards before returning to the other’s side with two pills and a glass of water. “Here.”

The ego took them without hesitation, and Dr. Iplier swallowed at the blatant display of the other’s – literal and figurative – blind trust in him. It took a bit, but, gradually, the ego began to calm. He swallowed thickly, and his words slurred when he spoke. “Wwwhat di’jou give me?”

Dr. Iplier sighed through his nose, settling into the bedside chair and began to comb his fingers through the ego’s hair. “It’s just a sedative. A mild one. You’re going to sleep for a bit, okay?”

To his surprise, the ego looked panicked, shaking his head and gripping Dr. Iplier’s coat sleeve with both hands. All the while, he leaned into his touch, if only slightly. “Noo…Don’ wanna sleep…”

Dr. Iplier frowned. “Why not? It’ll take your pain away, and it’ll help you heal.”

The ego whimpered, his hands beginning to shake. “Nightmares…”

Dr. Iplier’s lips parted, but no sound came out. He just continued to run his fingers through the other’s hair, soothing his trembling. The ego’s grip on his sleeve gradually began to lessen, until he just went slack, arms falling limp to the bed as his breathing slowed and evened. Dr. Iplier sighed again, carding his fingers through his hair one last time before standing, heading back over to his desk.

He finished his cup of coffee, sliding into his chair. He snuck a glance at the other, sleeping peacefully and finally allowed some reprieve, at least for now. Shaking his head, he looked back down at his work, making a little note to himself to make something easy on the stomach before the ego woke up.

His mood significantly darkened when he thought about what _else _he had been told. Dark and Wilford were _intentionally _being a detriment. The ego’s mental state was incredibly fragile as it was, he didn’t need the added deprecation. He would have to _talk _to Dark later.

The ego made a noise in his sleep, fists clenching, and Dr. Iplier’s attention instantly snapped back to him. Dark would have to wait. _He _was so much more important.


	3. Chapter 3

Dr. Iplier slammed open the door to Dark’s office a few of days later, absolutely _seething_. “What is _wrong_ with you,” he spat, storming toward the desk.

Dark simply raised an eyebrow, setting his pen down as he straightened himself. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

Dr. Iplier narrowed is eyes. “You know _exactly _what I mean, don’t give me that bullshit.” He pointed toward the door. “You and Wilford are scaring the _shit _out of him! I’m trying to help a broken man rebuild himself and _you two_ are lurking outside my office door every time I turn my back! He may be blind, but he’s not an _idiot_, he _knows _when you’re there!”

Dark’s aura had begun to shift, his ringing transitioning into more of a hiss, like a nest of writhing snakes. “Have you considered the possibility that he’s _lying _to you? The Author is known to do that. He’ll say anything to get what he wants.”

Dark’s words only added fuel to the raging fire that was building in Dr. Iplier. “Whoever is in my office, it is _not _the Author. And frankly, I trust _him_ more than I currently trust _you_. Just, do me a favor and back to fuck off so I can do my _fucking _job.”

Dark’s aura snapped violently, and then he was standing, slamming his hands on the desk with his eyes blazing red and blue respectively. “_The Author_ does not deserve the second chance you are giving him!”

“Well that’s your opinion,” Dr. Iplier snapped. “But my demand stands. _Back. Off._”

Dark’s eyes narrowed dangerously, his mirror images flickering into existence. “He has _hurt _this family, more than once! You have allowed an insatiable, murderous _sadist_ into my home and I _will not _stand for it!”

Dr. Iplier scoffed. “That is the most _hypocritical bullshit _I have ever heard! How many people have _you _killed, Dark, hm? How many has Wilford? He is _staying_ and that is _final_.”

Dark’s lips curled into a snarl, his voice dropping into a low purr that sent shivers racing down Dr. Iplier’s spine. “Don’t push your bounds, doctor. You’re new, so I’ll give you a pass. You do not have any power here.”

“I may not have much power, but I am a stubborn son of a bitch. You’re not going to bully me into abandoning him! He _needs _me! And you two are being nothing but detrimental!” He paused, drawing a single, shuddering breath. “You want to know something, Dark?” He pointed toward the door again. “He regrets _everything_ he’s done. On some level, he _hates _himself for it, too. And – from the moment I found him in his cabin – he doesn’t understand why I _care_. He _doesn’t get it_. This is a man who’s be ostracized and isolated his entire existence _finally _getting the care and compassion _everyone _deserves and _you’re _asking me to take that away from him! It’s not going to happen!”

“Don’t you _dare _blame us,” Dark hissed. “We _tried _to give him the benefit of the doubt, he lived with us for nearly a month, and it ended with the Jims being tortured for _hours _and scarred for life!” Dark’s images were flickering rapidly, his aura writhing and snapping behind him. “You don’t know this man _nearly _as well as you think you do!”

“Oh really?” Dr. Iplier scoffed. “So I’ve spent nearly every waking hour by his side for the past _week_, and you’re saying I don’t know him?” He began counting off on his fingers. “I know he’s confused, scared of his own shadow, and _terrified _of himself. He can’t even _touch_ a notebook without melting down. He’s an emotional _mess_. But, in his calmer, more relaxed moments, he’s kind, he’s got a dry sense of humor that can have me in stitches, and even King’s squirrels like hanging out with him. Now tell me again which of us doesn’t know him.”

Dark didn’t say a word, just stared Dr. Iplier down, analyzing him. Dr. Iplier glared back with stubborn defiance, fists clenched and breathing hard. At last, Dark sighed, his eyes fading to the usual black, and he straightened his tie. “I will…inform Wil to stay away from your office.”

Dr. Iplier nearly went boneless with relief, all tension fleeing his body as Dark sunk back into his chair. “_Thank you_.”

Dark just raised an eyebrow, picking up his pen once more and glancing down at his work. “Hmph. Go back to playing with your new ‘pet project’. Leave me be.”

Dr. Iplier scowled at his word choice, but kept his mouth shut, spinning on his heel and heading toward the kitchen. It was nearly time for dinner for the ego and him.


	4. Chapter 4

Dr. Iplier quietly crept into his office, far later than usual. His application he’d sent to the nearest hospital when he had been first created had recently got accepted, leaving him with a conflicted swirl of emotions. On one hand, he’d gotten his dream job, able to do what he loved every day. On the other…it kept him away from the physically and emotionally fragile ego he still treated in his office.

Dr. Iplier sighed, closing the door gently in his wake. The room was dark, and he could see the vague outline of the other ego curled up on the bed, wrapped up in the blankets and sleeping deeply. He looked…peaceful, for once, in natural sleep. The only time he didn’t have nightmares was when Dr. Iplier sedated him, and that was a rare and desperate occurrence.

Dr. Iplier flicked on the lights, knowing they wouldn’t disturb the blind other, and shed his doctor’s coat with a sigh, rubbing at his eyes and tossing the coat into some far corner of his office. The ego needed tending to. He was loathe to wake him, but he needed to eat something, and he wouldn’t do it unless Dr. Iplier was there to actually _watch _him, and he knew the others in the manor weren’t going to take care of him.

With another drawn out sigh, Dr. Iplier turned toward the bed, moving slowly over, and finally dropped his hand from his eyes. He stiffened, hand flying to his mouth instead. Blood _covered _the wall by the bed, dripping down in tiny rivulets and forming strange patterns. It looked…it looked like the ego had been trying to _write _something with the blood almost perpetually cascading from his sockets. When Dr. Iplier looked closer, it appeared to just be one word, written over and over: _‘Host.’ _And above it all, above the messy scrawls, written in big, dripping letters, was the phrase _‘I am the Host.’_

Dr. Iplier was frozen for a long moment, staring blankly, but then a wide grin was spreading across his face. Despite the blood staining his walls, he couldn’t help but feel _elated _and…_proud_. He’d found himself. A week and a half of grueling hard work, and he’d finally begun to settle. “Unconventional, but…okay.”

Still beaming proudly, Dr. Iplier gently laid on the Host’s shoulder, shaking him awake. “Hey. Host. Wake up.”

Slowly, the Host stirred, groaning. He froze, then grinned, rolling over and reaching out for Dr. Iplier, holding onto his wrist. “Doctor. You’re home.”

Dr. Iplier chuckled, placing his other hand against the Host’s wrapped around his wrist. “Yes. And I see your message. ‘The Host’. Has a nice ring to it, I must admit.”

The Host laughed, pushing himself upright. He turned to face the wall, and his smile grew sheepish, picking at the blood that had dried on his face. “I’m…sorry. About the mess. I didn’t…want to forget it.”

Dr. Iplier squeezed his hand. “No, don’t worry about it, I get it. This…has been a difficult road so far, And I have a feeling it’s not quite over yet.”

The Host smile slowly fell, and he hesitantly brought the hand still holding onto Dr. Iplier’s wrist to his chest. He swallowed thickly, looking up, and if Dr. Iplier didn’t know any better, he’d say the blind man was staring him dead in the eye. “It…still _hurts_. A lot. I don’t…know what’s _wrong _with me. I…have a name, why does it still _hurt?!_”

The Host looked so _distressed _as his bandages began to darken with fresh blood, painting over the dried streaks already covering his face. Dr. Iplier was quick to comfort, sitting next to him on the bed and shifting closer. “It’s okay, Host, like I said, we’ve still got a lot to figure out. It’s not all going to come crashing down on you at once. I’d say that’d arguably be worse. Take your time, alright?”

“I’m so tired of being _confused_, though!” The Host’s grip on his wrist tightened. “I just want to be _me_, I don’t want _his _shadow looming over me for the rest of my life. I’m…just so tired of _hurting_.” He sighed, dropping his head onto Dr. Iplier’s shoulder. “I wish the others could see that I’ve changed. Darkiplier and Wilford may have stopped ‘dropping by’, but…I hear the others, too. The King of the Squirrels refuses to walk passed the door without one or both of the Jims, and the Jims themselves just…_whisper_ when they pass. I _hate _it.”

Dr. Iplier didn’t know what to say. Unable to come up with something more substantial, he just muttered, “I can talk to them, if you’d like.”

The Host shook his head, lifting it once more to look up at Dr. Iplier, blood still streaming from beneath his bandages. “No…they’re right to be afraid of me. I’ve given no evidence for them to feel otherwise. The last they saw of –” He swallowed. “– _this body_, the Author was in the beginning stages of his psychological meltdown. I’d be surprised if they _weren’t _scared.”

“That doesn’t make it _right_,” Dr. Iplier mumbled. He drew quick breath, then stood, pulling the Host along so he was sitting on the edge of the bed. “Okay, let me clean you up, and then you’re going to eat something, alright?”

The Host arched an eyebrow. “But it’s almost 10:00pm.”

Dr. Iplier shot his own raised eyebrow right back. “I don’t know how you know that, but that doesn’t matter. Would I be correct in assuming you haven’t eaten anything since I watched you eat breakfast this morning?” The Host just bowed his head, picking at Dr. Iplier’s pajamas he still wore, and Dr. Iplier snorted. “Yeah that’s what I thought. Come on.”


	5. Chapter 5

It was the next morning when something…_odd_ happened.

Dr. Iplier was bustling about his office, preparing to leave for the hospital and rambling out commands to the Host. “_Please_ try to eat something while I’m gone. With the amount of blood loss you sustain every day, you _sorely _need it.”

The Host snorted from where he sat on the bed, devouring a plate of scrambled eggs and toast Dr. Iplier had brought up for him from the kitchen. “Not gonna happen.”

Dr. Iplier made a distressed noise, picking up his doctor’s coat from where he’d carelessly tossed it into the corner. “That is _not _the right answer!”

“It’s the truthful answer.”

Dr. Iplier laughed, shrugging his coat on. He flashed the Host a bright smile, even though he couldn’t see it. “Be good, alright? Try not to bleed all over my walls again.”

The Host flushed, the both of them turning to face the dried blood that was still painted all across the wall above the Host’s bed. He gave a sheepish smile. “Will do.”

Dr. Iplier moved over to him, carding his fingers through the Host’s hair once, causing the Host to hum contentedly. “I’m off. Can’t be late for a new job, _especially _not at a hospital.”

The Host smiled, reaching up to loosely hold Dr. Iplier’s wrist. “The Host wishes Dr. Iplier good luck.”

They both froze, and Dr. Iplier’s brow furrowed in confusion as the Host slapped a hand over his mouth. “Did you…just speak in third-person?”

Slowly, the Host lowered his hand. “I…did…” The Host looked even more confused than Dr. Iplier. “Why did I do that?”

Dr. Iplier gave an honest shrug. “I don’t know. I can’t read minds, Host.”

The Host’s grip on his wrist tightened. “Do you think it’ll happen again?” Panic was clear in every syllable he spoke.

Dr. Iplier covered his hand with his own. “Probably, but hey, don’t be scared, Host, this is good! You’re changing. You’re separating yourself from who you used to be.” He placed his other hand on the Host’s knee, voice softening. “I’m going to help you through this. You’ll be okay, I promise.” He smiled. “Like I’ve said, you’re not getting rid of me, no matter _what _you do.”

The Host nodded, slowly letting go of Dr. Iplier’s wrist. He tried for a smile, shoving him lightly in the chest. “Go. You’re going to be late.”

Dr. Iplier’s eyes widened. “Oh _shit!_” He pulled away, whirling around with his coat flaring behind him, which of course accidentally smacked the Host in the face and caused him to jump a mile, letting out a startled yelp. “Oh f – sorry! Sorry, I just –”

The Host laughed, shoving him again. “_Go!_”

“Right, right.” Dr. Iplier sprinted toward the door, opening it before turning back to the Host, pointing at him. “Take care of yourself, Goddammit!”

The Host just gave him a thumbs up, a little smirk plastered to his face.


	6. Chapter 6

It was a few days later, at the start of the third week since the Author had ripped his eyes out, and the Host’s transformation was beginning to pick up steam. In that short time span, he had almost completely shifted to speaking in third-person, and the way he spoke in general was much more…_flowy _than before. He wasn’t bleeding as much anymore, either, though that always went out the window whenever his emotions ran high.

Currently, he and Dr. Iplier were sitting on either side of the doctor’s desk, playing a game of chess. It was an old-fashioned board, with ornate glass pieces, and still pretty dusty despite Dr. Iplier’s best efforts to clean it up. He’d found it in one of the old, abandoned rooms that littered the manor, exploring out of sheer curiosity while the Host was asleep (he _was _still new after all, not even a month old). The Host had appeared excited when Dr. Iplier had brought it up, so they’d decided to play.

At first, Dr. Iplier had been hesitant, considering the Host was completely blind, but all that worry faded as the Host took his king for the third time in a row, and his jaw dropped, a smug grin present on the other’s face. “Checkmate.”

“How are you _doing _that?!” Dr. Iplier shot him a disbelieving glare. “You can’t even _see! _How do I keep losing?!”

The Host laughed, though an odd look crossed his face. “That’s not…entirely true.”

Dr. Iplier arched an eyebrow. “What, that I’m so bad at chess that I keep losing to a blind man?”

The Host laughed again. “No, that _is _entirely true.” Dr. Iplier quickly adopted a scandalized expression. “The Host was referring to his blindness.”

Dr. Iplier cocked his head to the side, brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“The Host sometimes gets –” He waved one hand in vague expression, trying to find the right word. “– _flashes _of sight. For a few seconds, he can see just fine.”

Dr. Iplier just drew his mouth in a tight line, unsure of how to process this information. “…How long has this been happening?”

The Host shrugged. “Since the Host discovered his name. That event seems to have caused a chain reaction for a number of things.”

“Yes, so it seems…” Suddenly, Dr. Iplier flashed a bright grin. “Wanna play again? Or are you tired of winning?”

The Host grinned back. “_Never_.”

Dr. Iplier laughed and set about resetting the chessboard. The Host hummed quietly to himself, leaning back in his chair. Dr. Iplier couldn’t help but marvel at how _calm _he’d become. Ever since he’d found his name and he had an _identity_, he’s been in a much better place than when Dr. Iplier first brought him home.

Of course, the Host just _had _to prove him wrong.

The only warning Dr. Iplier got that something was wrong was the Host’s harsh gasp. His head shot up just in time to watch the Host collapse, falling from his chair to land with a dull _thump! _on the floor. Dr. Iplier stood, rushing over. “Host?!”

He stopped short as he rounded the edge of the desk, hand flying to his mouth. Already a considerable pool of blood had formed beneath the Host. One hand covered his drenched bandages, blood dripping between his fingers, while his other propped himself up. His whole body trembled violently, with pitiful gasps and small noises escaping him.

Dr. Iplier places a hand on the whimpering Host’s shoulder, a spike of panic stabbing through him. The Host was breathing _far _to rapidly, something was _seriously _wrong – “Host…? Are you –”

He cut himself off with a surprised noise as the Host’s bloody hand – the one formerly covering his bandages – shot out to grip the end of Dr. Iplier’s coat. He lifted his head to face Dr. Iplier, his bandages almost slipping down his nose with _just how much _he was bleeding. “What – what’s _happening _to me?!” His voice broke, sounding high and strained as he slipped back into first-person. “I can’t – it _hurts _– and I –” His arms buckled, and he dropped lower to the floor, bracing himself on his forearm. His hand shook as he continued to hold onto Dr. Iplier with an iron grip. “There’s going to be a new one.”

Dr. Iplier felt the _fear _and _worry_ grow within him with every word the Host spoke, the pool of blood beginning to lap at his shoes. “What are you _talking _about, new _what?_”

“_Ego_,” the Host hissed, quickly dissolving into an awful coughing fit. When he managed to draw breath again, it rattled painfully in his chest. “In a-a-a few months. J-June, I think.”

Dr. Iplier went stiff, mouth open and brain fried. Mentally, a constant screaming chorus of _‘The Host can see the future the Host can see the future’ _was blaring, but outwardly he just gave a tiny smile and helped the Host back into his chair. “If…what you’re saying is true – and only time will tell – than no _wonder _you kept beating me. You can see the _future_, Host!”

The Host swallowed thickly, still panting, as he nodded slowly, more to himself than anything. “O-Okay…okay. The Host…can see the future.” He grinned, blood painting his teeth and looking _completely _out of it. “That’s _terrifying!_”

Dr. Iplier snorted. “Yeah, yeah it is.” He darted off to grab his cotton balls and disinfectant, along with one of the clotting agent shots he’d ‘borrowed’ from the hospital. He carefully inserted the needle into the Host’s neck, and the Host yelped, jumping a little at the sudden sharp pain. “Sorry! Forgot to warn you. It’s just gonna help with the bleeding.” He cleared his throat, removing the needle and set about cleaning the Host up. “So…what’s this ‘new ego’ gonna be like?”

The Host shrugged. “The Host didn’t see much. Just a…a smile, and a white mask. And something blue. But he got the impression that this one will be good. A um…a superhero character.”

Dr. Iplier raised an eyebrow, peeling back the Host’s soaked bandages. The sight of his bare sockets barely bothered him anymore. “A superhero, huh? I bet that’ll be entertaining.” The Host simply hummed, slumping with exhaustion as Dr. Iplier reached into his sockets to remove and replace the bloody gauze. Dr. Iplier finished up quickly, noting the Host’s fatigue, then placed his hands on his shoulders. “Hey. Go get some sleep. That was quite the ordeal there, and you sorely need it. Especially if that’s going to be a thing from now on.”

“Mmm…” That’s the only noise the Host made in response, and it took a bit for Dr. Iplier to realize that it was the sound of the Host’s soft snores, having fallen asleep right in the chair.

Shaking his head, a fond smile spreading across his face, Dr. Iplier hefted the Host into his arms, a faint pink glowing on his cheeks as the Host subconsciously curled toward him, burying his face in Dr. Iplier’s arm. He set the Host down gently on the bed, pulling the blankets over him. The Host sighed in his sleep, and when Dr. Iplier tried to pull away, he discovered the Host’s hand still holding on tight to his coat, having never let go. His little smile grew, combing his fingers through the Host’s hair as he settled in the bedside chair, closing his own eyes.

“Sweet dreams, Host.”


	7. Chapter 7

When Dr. Iplier opened his office door a couple of nights later, he was instantly bombarded by an array of _very _bright colors. His mouth fell open as he surveyed the various flowers and plants and brightly colored _origami _of all things packed into his office. “What the _Hell_…?”

“Doctor!” He was blindsided by the Host tackling him in a hug. Dr. Iplier was nearly sent crashing to the floor, hesitating a brief moment due to sheer _shock _before he moved to reciprocate. By the time he could, however, the Host was already pulling back, positively _beaming_ and bouncing on the balls of his feet like an excited puppy. He grabbed Dr. Iplier’s hands, pulling him along. “Come! The Host has something to show Dr. Iplier!”

“I – wha…?” Dr. Iplier was too stunned to say much as the Host led him to his desk. He picked one of the origami animals – a bright red owl – and before Dr. Iplier could even _attempt _to speak again the Host was muttering rapidly under his breath, cupping the paper bird in both hands and holding it up close to his mouth.

Dr. Iplier shook his head rapidly, _unbelievably _confused. “Host, what are you –”

The Host held up a finger, still mumbling rapidly, and then suddenly he was done. A moment passed, and then the paper owl was twitching in his hands, flapping its wings once before taking off, flying circles around the room and hooting softly. Dr. Iplier’s jaw dropped, watching with utter _awe_ as the Host grin grew the brightest it’d ever been.

Eventually, the owl landed back in the Host’s palm, going stiff an inanimate once more. Dr. Iplier gave the Host a wide-eyed look. “How…how did you…?”

The Host’s bright grin turned to him, nearly blinding as he continued to bounce. “_Words_, doctor! Words have always been the Author’s power, and they are now the Host’s, too! Just in a different way…” His grin softened but by no means dimmed. “The Host just needs his _voice_.”

Slowly, a matching bright grin spread across Dr. Iplier’s face. “That’s…that’s _amazing_, Host!” He spun around in a circle, marveling at the scattered plants and figures with a newfound sense of awe. “You…you did _all _of this?”

The Host nodded enthusiastically. “Yes!” He clapped his hands once. “There is still more the Host would like to show Dr. Iplier!”

The Host started mumbling again, moving his hands oddly, like he was grabbing invisible puzzle pieces out of the air and slotting them together in front of him. Except, gradually, the pieces became not so invisible. Before Dr. Iplier’s very eyes, a pristine white rose was appearing in the Host’s hand. And then it was suddenly solid, and the Host twirled it between his fingers. He smiled at Dr. Iplier, lifting the rose and seeming oblivious to his darkening bandages as he exerted his power. “See? Impressive, yes?”

Dr. Iplier nodded. “Uh, yeah! Yeah, it is!” He spun around again, taking it all in. “I can’t believe you did all this!” He whirled back to face the Host, a little smirk present now. “What, is it _that_ boring when I’m gone?”

The Host flushed. “Yes. That, and…the Host was curious. About what he could do. He remembered when he accidentally formed the barrier a few weeks prior and decided to…_explore_.” He grinned again. “And there is one more thing the Host must show Dr. Iplier.”

He shyly offered Dr. Iplier the rose, who took it without hesitation. He drew a deep breath, visibly relaxing. At first, nothing happened, and Dr. Iplier was about to say something, but then the air began to shimmer around the Host in a mirage-like fashion. And then _words_ began to appear in the air, at first faint and transparent but gradually solidifying until they were black as ink and dripping onto the floor. Dr. Iplier’s jaw dropped once more, and the Host’s ever-present grin grew impossibly brighter, despite the blood now painting his face. “New aura!”

Dr. Iplier took a hesitant step forward, reaching up to cup the Host’s cheek with one hand. He smiled softly, not quite caring that his hand was rapidly getting covered in blood. “You really are different, aren’t you?”

The Host nodded, covering Dr. Iplier’s hand with his own. “Yes. It feels…_good_. The Host believes…” He drew a shuddering breath. “The Host firmly believes that the Author is dead.”

Dr. Iplier nodded once. “Good. I’m glad. Only met him twice, and can’t say I’m a fan. I like _you_ much better.” He tapped the Host on the nose, chuckling as he started back and sneezed, aura fizzling out. But then the Host’s legs began to quiver, and Dr. Iplier caught him just as they buckled, supporting him with one arm as to not crush the rose he still held. “Okay, yep, as amazing as all this is, that’s enough exertion for you for one day. Come on.”

He helped him to the bed, lying him down gently as the Host focused on trying to calm his ragged breathing. Quickly darting over to set the rose carefully down on his desk, Dr. Iplier began to fuss over the Host as per usual, cleaning him up and changing his bandages, rambling to himself idly as he worked. He couldn’t help but smile whenever he made the Host laugh. Just as he was about to move away again, to put away the roll of bandages, the Host caught his coat, an expression Dr. Iplier couldn’t identify on his face. “The Host…is _not _the Author.”

Dr. Iplier smiled, swiping the Host’s hair from his forehead (he made sure to wash his bloody hand). “No, you’re not.” The Host let go, satisfied, and Dr. Iplier spun away. “King made lasagna last night. How about that for dinner?”

The Host chuckled, humming softly. “Sounds good.”


	8. Chapter 8

Dr. Iplier had grown accustomed to sleeping in the chair by the Host’s bed. In fact, he hadn’t actually been in his _actual _room since he’d brought the injured Author home, an event pushing a month ago now. He was still far too paranoid to leave him alone for long. Going to the hospital every day was beginning to test his nerves with how _anxious _he was becoming. He’d only recently coaxed the Host into eating even when he _wasn’t _there, which soothed him marginally, but not by much. So much could go _wrong _still.

Point is, Dr. Iplier hadn’t slept in a real bed in weeks. He spent every moment he could by the Host’s side. He knew Dark and Wilford disproved _immensely_, and that King and the Jims didn’t get why he was so willing to hang around someone who – in their eyes – was still a dangerous sociopath. But Dr. Iplier didn’t care. He saw the Host as…a friend. He knew his habits by heart by now. At this point, they _both _knew each other by heart. It was safe to say they were pretty in sync.

That being said, when Dr. Iplier woke up and saw the bed was empty, he knew _instantly _that something was _very wrong_.

He was completely awake in a heartbeat, head whipping around for any sign of the Host. It was then he noticed the soft, muffled sounds of sobbing. His heart broke, and slowly he stood, making his way over to the corner the Host had occupied for the majority of the first week.

His suspicions were proven correct; hidden between two of the larger plants the Host had created a couple of days ago, the man himself sat pressed into the corner, knees pulled up to his chest with his face buried between them, sobbing quietly. Dr. Iplier gave a little sigh, settling onto his knees before him and reaching out. “Oh Host…”

Before he could make contact, the Host flinched, curling into a tighter ball as his head shot up. Blood streamed down his face as his lips contorted into the vague outlines of a snarl. “_Do not touch the Host_,” he hissed, and Dr. Iplier obediently drew his hand away, raising them both in surrender.

“Okay, okay, I…I won’t touch.” He shifted a little, arms dropping to his sides, and even that dull noise had the Host flinching again, pressing himself further into the corner. “…Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

The Host choked, head tilting to face the floor. “The Host…had a nightmare, and…Dr. Iplier was in it.” Dr. Iplier’s breath caught in his throat as the Host continued to speak, words flowing out faster and faster. “It was dark at first, and there was nothing, and then Dr. Iplier was there and he was smiling but then there was _b-blood_, streaming from his eyes and mouth and nose and he collapsed a-a-and then the _Author_ was standing over his body a-a-and he was _grinning_ and his eyes were so _bright _it _hurt_ and he was saying _awful _things and _the Host killed Dr. Iplier!_”

The Host broke down again, sobs growing louder and more wretched and broken, his body trembling violently. Dr. Iplier felt his chest ache. “Host…it’s _okay_, I’m right here! You didn’t…you didn’t hurt me.”

The Host abruptly lifted his head to face Dr. Iplier, began to wave his hands in wild expression. “B-b-but what if he _does? _Wh-what if the Host is more Author than they thought? What if Darkiplier and Wilford Warfstache and everyone else is _right?_” He wrapped his arms around himself, burying his face in his knees once more. “Dr. Iplier should’ve left him to die alone in that cabin.”

Dr. Iplier made an odd choking noise in the back of his throat, tears beginning to prick at the corner of his eyes. “No…no I shouldn’t have. If I had…I never would’ve gotten to meet you.”

“Maybe that would’ve been a _good _thing,” the Host spat, curling tighter. “Dr. Iplier wouldn’t have to deal with the burden that is taking care of the Host. He wouldn’t have the burden of the others’ disapproval weighing on his back.”

“Host, you are _not_ a burden.” Dr. Iplier placed a hand on the Host’s knee. “And I’ve told you time and time again, I don’t _care _what the others think! A life is _far _more important than the disapproving, questioning glares I get.”

The Host stiffened, then shook his head. “I don’t believe you.” Dr. Iplier started briefly at the first-person. It’d been a while since he slipped back into that, but he didn’t have time to question it before the Host’s voice was picking up volume. “I don’t _believe _you! I can – I can still _hear _the Author, sometimes! The Host can hear him, _whispering_, and…” His voice dropped back to a mumble. “The Host doesn’t want to hurt anyone.”

Dr. Iplier drew a shuddering breath, shifted closer. “And you _won’t_, Host. I believe that.” Hesitantly, he lifted his hand from the Host’s knee, moving instead to brush his hair from his sticky, blood-soaked bandages.

Instantly, the Host reacted, his aura snapping into existence as his head shot up. “_The Host said don’t touch him!_” He lashed out blindly, scared and angry and _terrified_, and Dr. Iplier jerked back, letting out a harsh yelp as the Host’s writhing aura cut a shallow gash across his palm.

“_Ow!_ Fuck –” Dr. Iplier gripped his own wrist, sucking in a hiss of air as he watched the blood begin to well. Shallow as it may be, it hurt like _Hell_, his palm burning with the Host’s strange magic. He turned his gaze again to the Host, and his eyes went wide. The Host was staring at him, breathing ragged and bordering hyperventilation, shaking even worse than before with his hands pressed against the wall behind him. Blood painted his whole face as his aura rapidly faded, and Dr. Iplier reached out with his uninjured hand. “Host – wait – it’s –”

“_Leave_.” Dr. Iplier shut up, and the Host let out a harsh sob. “_Please _go. Before…before the Host does something worse.”

Dr. Iplier shook his head. “No, I’m not leaving you, _especially _not right now. It’s oka –”

“_Go!_”

Dr. Iplier blinked, and suddenly he was standing outside his office door. He tried the doorknob. Locked. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind of the disorientation before he began pounding on the door with his uninjured fist. “Hey! Let me back in! _Please!_”

The Host didn’t reply, and Dr. Iplier was forced to back off by the burning steadily growing worse in his palm. Hesitantly, he turned away from the office door, but not without several glances back. With a sigh, he headed toward the kitchen, blood steadily beginning drip down his fingers.


	9. Chapter 9

“Dr. Iplier…?”

Dr. Iplier jumped, hissing as his wound connected with the faucet. Currently, he was rinsing it out at the kitchen sink, the cold water soothing some of the burn. He glanced over his shoulder. King was giving him a confused, concerned look from the entranceway, an eyebrow raised. Dr. Iplier flashed a smile. “Hey, King! Don’t mind me.”

King frowned. “…What are you doing?” He inched closer before Dr. Iplier could reply, and he gasped, one hand flying to his mouth when he saw the gash gracing his palm. “_Oh my God! _What happened?!”

Dr. Iplier gave a slightly forced laugh. “It’s not that bad, King, don’t be so dramatic. It was just an accident.”

King swallowed, eyes flicking to his face for a brief moment. “Did…did _he _do that?”

Dr. Iplier’s face hardened. “Like I said. It was an _accident_.”

“So he _did_.” King slipped a hand beneath his crown to tear at his hair, the other rubbing at his painfully glaring scar. “We-we-we keep _telling _you you shouldn’t trust him and now look! He _hurt _you! When are you going to see that what you’re doing i-is a _very _bad idea?!”

Dr. Iplier narrowed his eyes. “When are _you _going to believe _me _when I tell you you’re _wrong?!_ It was an _accident_, King, he didn’t mean it! He was…emotional. This is the first time he’s ever harmed me, and he’s been here for nearly a _month _now. If he really was malevolent, don’t you think he would’ve done so much more by now?”

King glanced away, wringing his cape in his hands. “You don’t know the Author like we do, he takes his time, he –”

“_He _is not the Author!” King flinched as Dr. Iplier raised his voice, and Dr. Iplier sighed. “I’m sorry, King, I just…” He pinched the bridge of his nose, turning off the sink. “I’m gonna make some breakfast. Want anything?”

Roughly ten minutes later saw Dr. Iplier gently rapping on his office door again, this time with a plate of scrambled eggs in hand. “Please open up. I’m not leaving till you do. And, well, it’s either that or I go find a screwdriver and take the door off.”

He couldn’t help but give a tiny laugh when he heard the tell-tale click of the lock, and he carefully pushed open the door, closing it quietly behind him. After a cursory glance around, he saw that the Host hadn’t moved from his corner, refusing to face Dr. Iplier. Still, Dr. Iplier slowly approached, holding out the plate. “Hey. I brought food.”

The Host shifted into a tighter ball. “The Host isn’t hungry.”

Dr. Iplier sat down in front of him, setting the plate to the side. He waited a beat, and made sure his voice was soft before he spoke. “I’m not mad at you, Host.”

“Why _not_, though?” The Host’s voice was raw and broken, still refusing to look at Dr. Iplier as his hands clenched into fists, his arms wrapped around his knees. “The Host _hurt_ Dr. Iplier! The one thing he _never _wanted to do and that’s the _one thing _he did!”

Dr. Iplier reached out as if to touch him but thought better of it, folding his hands back in his lap. “I’m not mad at you because I don’t _blame _you, Host. It’s not your fault. You told me not to touch you and I ignored you. You were just lashing out. I’m sorry.”

The Host lifted his head, tilting it a little to one side, brow furrowing. Blood had _completely_ soaked into the pajamas he wore, more still streaming sluggishly down his face. “…_What?_”

Dr. Iplier’s lips quirked up in a tiny, relieved smile. “It’s _not _your fault. If anything, it’s _mine_ for pushing you. And I’m sorry.” He gazed down at his hand, flexing his fingers. “Besides, it’s not that bad. See?”

He offered his injured hand to the Host, and he hesitantly took it. He started to trace the wound with a finger, appearing to be just feeling out the damage, but when Dr. Iplier hissed, tensing, the Host flinched, jerking his finger away. He glanced up at Dr. Iplier before bowing his head again. “May…may the Host try something?”

Dr. Iplier shrugged. “Be my guest.”

The Host took his hand again, loosely holding his wrist. He glanced up at Dr. Iplier again, as if asking for reassurance, before he covered the wound with his other. And then he began muttering rapidly, brow furrowed with concentration. When he pulled his hand away a few moments later, the wound was gone, leaving nothing but a faint scar.

Dr. Iplier’s eyes widened, and the Host gave him a small smile. “The Host can hurt…but he can heal, too. And…” A fresh wave of blood flowed from beneath his bandages as an expression Dr. Iplier couldn’t read crossed his face, and then the Host was sobbing all over again, shoulders shaking as he buried his face between his knees.

Dr. Iplier clenched his hand a couple of times before shifting closer. “…Can I touch you?” At the Host’s hesitant, shaky nod, Dr. Iplier surged forward, pulling him into a tight, grounding hug. The Host shifted so he could wrap both his arms and his legs around Dr. Iplier, practically sitting in his lap in his desperate efforts to be as close as possible and trembling violently. Dr. Iplier just held him tighter as the Host sobbed into his shoulder.

“It’s okay, Host,” Dr. Iplier muttered. “I don’t care what you do. You could hurt me all you like if you wanted. But no matter _what _you do…I’m not going to leave you.”

The Host made a small whimpering noise, gripping onto Dr. Iplier as if he was afraid he’d disappear if he ever let go. “Thank you.”

Dr. Iplier didn’t know it then, but those would be the last words the Host ever spoke in first-person. But, in that moment, he wouldn’t care anyway, too focused on soothing and just holding the Host, calming him back down. Once he had, he’d convinced the Host to eat his breakfast, despite his obvious reluctance to. He’d take the day off from the hospital, claiming a ‘family emergency’, and he and the Host would spend the rest of the day laying in the bed, watching bad Netflix movies on Dr. Iplier’s phone and just so _comfortable _together, until the Host fell asleep, curled against Dr. Iplier’s side.

Dr. Iplier smiled softly, combing his fingers through the Host’s hair as he shifted more comfortably. Subconsciously, the Host curled closer, burrowing into Dr. Iplier’s side with his arms wrapped around him. Dr. Iplier could feel the heat rising in his face as gazed down at the Host, lips parted slightly. The Host was…surprisingly adorable, bloody bandages and all. Especially when he was asleep, his features softening. It was almost impossible to tell all the trauma he’s gone through.

Hesitantly, though without a second thought, Dr. Iplier pressed a light kiss to the sleeping Host’s forehead. It was barely a brush of his lips on the Host’s skin, but it was still enough to have his cheeks burning as he glanced away. He shifted again, wrapping one arm around the Host’s shoulders and resting his cheek against the Host’s hair. He closed his own eyes, sighing through his nose as he drifted off into sleep as well.


	10. Chapter 10

Dr. Iplier bounced into his office, clapping his hands excitedly as he nudged the door closed with his foot. Just barely over four weeks since the Host had come to the manor and finally, _finally _– “Host! I have _really _good news!”

The Host turned his head from where he lay on the bed, hands folded behind his head and one eyebrow raised. Despite Dr. Iplier’s best efforts, he was painfully quieter than he once was, the fact that he’d hurt Dr. Iplier having been a significant blow to his self-esteem. He hadn’t laughed since then either, or really smiled, and it was beginning to weigh on Dr. Iplier’s heart about how much the Host was beating himself up over an accident that was _really _Dr. Iplier’s fault but not that he was accepting that.

But right now, Dr. Iplier was _far _too excited to focus on all of that.

He raced over to the Host’s side, still bouncing excitedly, and his enthusiasm only increased when the Host’s lips twitched up in the beginnings of a tiny smile. Dr. Iplier sat on the bed beside him, and the Host shifted to sit up as Dr. Iplier consciously tried to keep from bouncing. “Okay okay okay, so, earlier today I _finally _managed to convince Dark to call a meeting, I just got back from it actually, and – after a _long _debate – they finally agreed to meet you! They’re gonna hear you out, Host!”

The Host’s jaw dropped, and he slid to sit next to Dr. Iplier. “…_Really?_ When?!”

Dr. Iplier’s bright grin turned a little apologetic. “The most reasonable date I could get is tomorrow. Everything else they offered was either months or at one point _years _away, and Wilford was ready to teleport you to the middle of the meeting room that second. All of which I vetoed immediately, of course. Um, so yeah. Tomorrow.”

The Host’s little smile grew. “That’s _amazing! _But uh…” He glanced down at himself, picking at the bloodstained pajamas he still wore. “Perhaps the Host should find something more suitable to wear?”

Dr. Iplier rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, that’d probably be best. I’ll go dig around in my closet for something.”

He stood, and started to move toward the door, but the Host caught the edge of his coat. “…Wait. The Host…has an idea.”

He shifted off the bed, going to stand in the middle of the room. He glanced down at himself, spreading his arms a little before beginning to mutter under his breath, brow furrowed with concentration. His body fuzzed, becoming distorted, and when the strange effect faded, he was wearing something _very _different, and Dr. Iplier’s mouth fell open.

The Host smiled shyly, immediately shoving his hands into the pockets of his new trench coat, the garment going down to his ankles. Beneath it, he wore a white dress shirt patterned with what looked like mini budding cherry trees and trousers. He had shoes now, too (having gone barefoot pretty much the entire time he’d been at the manor), a pair of semi-formal black dress shoes. Even his hair was different, slicked back and no longer in danger of sticking to his usually bloodstained bandages with the blond streak standing out strikingly.

The Host’s cheeks slowly reddened as Dr. Iplier’s awed stare became increasingly obvious. “…Will this do?”

Dr. Iplier cleared his throat, blinking rapidly as he jolted back into awareness. “Yes! Yes, that’s perfect, you…you look _really_ good!” The Host’s blush deepened, turning his head away, to stare at the wall, and Dr. Iplier rubbed the back of his neck again awkwardly. “If I may ask…where’d you get the idea?”

The Host turned back toward him, looking…hesitant. “…Does Dr. Iplier remember that day he first met the Author? When he…broke the mirror?”

Dr. Iplier raised an eyebrow, unsure of where this was going. “…Yeah…”

The Host bowed his head. “Well…the reason for that was because the Author had a…vision. His reflection was different. It was of a man in a trench coat and dress shirt, with slicked back hair and a knowing little smile. And…two gaping holes where his eyes should be.” Dr. Iplier’s eyes shot wide as the Host continued. “The Author saw the Host in his reflection, and it _terrified _him. And the Host believes _that _was the trigger for his decent into madness.”

Dr. Iplier shook his head rapidly. “Wait wait wait, let me get this straight; The Author’s vison of _you _scared him so bad that he lost his mind and _became _you?” He gave a small huff of laughter, splitting in a little, disbelieving smile. “That is…some Shakespeare level of mindfuckery right there.”

The Host smiled, not quite laughing, but Dr. Iplier grinned back all the same. He linked his arm with the Host, grin falling a little when he flinched, and lead him back over to the bed, noting with surprise and delight that the bloody pajamas were laying neatly folded on top of the blankets. “Come on, let’s relax for a bit. You have a big day tomorrow. And I think Netflix finally has a new season of ‘House of Cards’.

The Host – _hesitantly _– pressed himself more firmly against Dr. Iplier, clinging onto his arm with his other hand. “Sounds perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH HOLY FUCK!!!**_  
I am _so glad_ I finally get to share this _moster_ of a story with you guys! The Host is my _son_, he is my favorite, and _God_ I love this story. I love everything about it. _Especially_ the bits where Dr. Iplier is like _'Fuck this guy's cute'_ but that might just be me. Anyway, I _sincerely_ hope you enjoyed this one, and Sunday's story is one about the Jims and a certain lovable zombie boi! See you then!
> 
> Tumblr: doctordiscord123.tumblr.com


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